The Islet
Alfred Lord Tennyson
1809 to 1892
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Whither O whither love shall we go,
For a of sweet little summers or so'
The sweet little of the singer said,
On the day that follow'd day she was wed,
'Whither O whither love shall go?'
And the singer shaking his curly head
Turn'd as he sat, and struck the keys
There at right with a sudden crash,
Singing, 'and shall it over the seas
With a crew that is neither nor rash,
But a bevy of Eroses apple-cheek'd,
In shallop of crystal ivory-beak'd,
With a satin sail of ruby glow,
To a sweet little Eden on earth I know,
A mountain islet pointed and peak'd;
Waves a diamond shingle dash,
Cataract brooks to the ocean run,
Fairily-delicate palaces shine
Mixt with myrtle and clad with vine,
And overstream'd and silvery-streak'd
With many a rivulet high the Sun
The facets of the glorious mountain flash
the valleys of palm and pine.'
'Thither O thither, love, let us go.'
'No, no, no!
For all that exquisite isle, my dear,
There is but bird with a musical throat,
And his compass is of a single note,
That it makes one weary hear.'
'Mock me not! mock me not! love, us go.'
'No, love, no.
For the bud breaks into bloom on the tree,
And a storm wakes on the lonely sea,
And a worm is in the lonely wood,
That pierces the liver and the blood,
And makes it a sorrow to be.'